


You and I, And I, Alone

by Pohadka



Series: The Job Between Here and There [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Notebooks, Multi, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Side Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:06:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pohadka/pseuds/Pohadka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's notebooks are multiplying, so he decides to consolidate a little.  Then he remembers one more little detail he has to attend to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I, And I, Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick fluffy side story, cause I had to peek into the notebooks. This is set between my two main fics, The Job Between Here and There and the Rent is Too Damned High Job. No real spoilers for the second one, but it does explain a couple things here and there. Maybe. there's also some flashback porn. And uber cuteness too. 
> 
> Title is from Kindness be Conceived by Thao and the Get Down Stay Down. As always, Beta'ed by the awesomenest Florianna. All errors are mine and mine alone because I am the one who can't see tonight. [stupid allergies]

James waited until it was quiet before slipping away. This new place unsettled them too. Even he could see that. It was in the way Hardison constantly fussed with the arrangement of his screens and equipment. The way that Parker wandered around to look at things from every single conceivable angle, including upside down from the rafters. The way that Eliot mirrored Hardison while he was in the kitchen, muttering under his breath as he changed things. 

Parker already knew about the little nook he’d made for himself up on the third floor. It was mostly attic space up there. Maybe used for storage back in the 20’s and 30’s. The building was that old. It felt good, to have something his age be so… tangible. But there were little nooks someone had blocked off here and there, including one just above his new apartment. He’d built a trap door so he could go anytime he wanted, and now it was his comfortable spot. Parker called it a “safe space” but it was more than that. It was his. 

Malaya was still curled up in the sheepskin bed he’d put there for her, so he simply went to the low table he used for his notebooks. He had all of them there now, from the very first one, still with the broken spiral wire across the top, to the new sleek leather-bound journals that Sophie had gifted to him. “It may help to go back through and transcribe the old ones, if you want. Maybe sort them into new orders, to see if it reconnects different memories for you. After all, memory is not linear, so don’t think that’s how you have to be for yourself.” 

He hadn’t thought about it for a while, but now he remembered. He picked up that first journal, flipping to a blank space in the back to write it out. He’d been somewhere in Virginia. An empty house, easily broken into. Secluded. He’d thought it had been abandoned, but now, looking back, he realized it probably was someone’s vacation house. 

He had stayed there, those first few weeks after DC. Not realizing it had been the smartest thing to do in avoiding the manhunt. He’d hidden in the back of a closet to sleep. Burrowing like an animal. 

Someone had left a stash of things there. After the second day, he’d gotten curious, for the first time. Letters written to someone named Cole. Old letters, really old. Part of him had remembered that the language was English, not Russian. But he could still read it. He hadn’t questioned it at all that he could. 

All of it triggered too many memories, too much he couldn’t control. He’d been starving and dehydrated until he figured out what the kitchen was for. So any time his brain decided to make a connection, it was a torrent of things he couldn’t track, couldn’t control, couldn’t understand. 

This little notebook had been on the kitchen counter, a list of food on the front page and a pen next to it. Emboldened by the memories shared in the letters, he’d started to write things down too. 

He’d spent another week in that house, until the kitchen was empty. He’d found a backpack, clothes that were almost his size, shoes that were too big. A ball cap talking about something called Mountaineers that fit over his mass of hair. Photos around the house told him how people here dressed. He vaguely remembered lessons on fitting in. He tried. 

And he wrote. Sometimes just a word or two. Sometimes long rambling things that jumped languages and scripts. English words in Russian. French thoughts in Japanese Hanji. Chinese expressions in a rural German dialect. He still did that some days.

Now he wrote again.

 _I found this notebook while I was lost, alone. It was my first friend on the path out of the darkness. It may never make sense, not even to me, but I would not be here without it. -JG_  
  
~ ~ ~ ~

The dozen new journals intimidated him at first. Then he decided, he wanted to do a compilation. He already had one notebook labeled Steve. He wanted to sort now.

His first new journal is “Happy.” Also known as “Good.” “Pleasure.” It’s filled with memories gathered from the other books, and lists.

Malaya. Peanut butter. Making Parker laugh. Making Steve laugh. Learning something that makes me remember something. 

A child’s voice, singing a song in French somewhere outside. Covered windows. Saw only a sliver of green. Brown hair. Doll. We had waited. Zdenik had complained. Silence better. No. If singing, then no one suspect. A woman’s face in the dark, seeing only me. I whisper, run. No more singing. Back to cryo next day. 

New York. Sun shining off Manhattan buildings. Sky scraper? Building. So much noise. Steve. Museum. It’s been forever Buck. 

Red hair. Dancing. So light. So obedient. 

Frozen ball of sugar on patterned cone. Color brown. Melting onto fingers. Gotta eat faster Buck. May I have a bite too? 

Alone in the trees. Silence except for wind. Stars so bright. Running through snow. 

The tech had a necklace. Small green stone. Carved. Sparkled. 

Sing Bucky sing. One more song then sleep. Soft murmur. Warmth. Smell of roses, quilts. She goes to sleep fastest for you Bucky. Safe. 

Red dress. So tight. Red lipstick that matched. Saw Steve. Only Steve. Set him up with all the wrong girls after all. I’m turning into you.

Looking down at her. Looking up at me. Bright green eyes. Blond hair. Cindy don’t bother him. He should come with us mama. The shelter’s crowded baby girl. But he’s lost. Small hand wrapped around his finger. Following. Can you speak? No? That’s okay. A bed. A blanket. Small body curled up against his belly at some point. No dreams. No dreams!

Steve curled up against his belly, shivering. Why do we live in New York anyways, huh? We should move south. Hair tickling his nose. The smell of shampoo. The warmth of stick bone elbows and stubborn hearts. 

Soft kiss. Tentative. I’m sorry Bucky I shouldn’t have. More kiss. Warmth. Feels so good. 

Parker dancing around the office, singing softly to herself.

Steve sitting on a park bench, rubber in his mouth as he sketches. Ducks bobbing on the river. 

The way that Eliot sleeps on Alec’s left while Parker is always on Alec’s right. 

Laughter.

Lemon crepes with raspberries.

The smell of baking bread. Women’s voices. Bucky stay out that’s for supper. You and Steve go find something to do.

Moonlight on Steve’s skin through the window. His head arched back in the air, mouth open. Breathing fast. Warmth, so much warmth, a river of warmth where we connect. Exploding. Disintegrating. Curling Steve against my chest after. Soft giggles. I love you. 

Empty meadow. Clean air. Crisp tangy to breath in. Little lavender flowers everywhere. A bird in the blue sky above, just circling. The flowers smell like spring and snow both. 

Kids playing in the park. Running and laughing. Little Stevie in the swings, going higher each time. Almost taking flight. 

Chocolate.

Hershey’s chocolate.

Smeared along Steve’s collarbone. Laughing as he licked it up. Steve squirming. Little Steve in their apartment. Big Steve in a tent outside of Bruges, both laughing and pushing while clinging to him. Big Steve actually lifting him in the air. 

Sunshine on his face. 

Summer rain

Eliot’s pizza.

Malaya crawling up his leg to curl up on his hip to sleep.

Teaching the girls how to play hopscotch. 

Birthday cake. With frosting and candles.

~ ~ ~ ~

James left his cubby hole, taking Malaya downstairs to feed her. Then he went across to the office. Eliot was still there. “I need to deliver something for Steve’s birthday. I don’t want to miss it.” 

“No problem. You decide what you want to do, we’ll make sure he gets it.” Eliot just smiled, but his eyes were soft in the way they got anytime they talked about Steve. 

James nodded, then turned around and went back to his apartment to start planning.

~ ~ ~ ~

Parker almost wished that Rogers did live in the Avengers tower. She’d always wanted a reason to break in there and see if she could beat Stark’s security. But nope, Rogers had moved on before James had made this request. Still, Avengers Academy was pretty tight! 

In as a delivery girl. Switched into a recruit’s uniform. Switched into security uniform. Made sure it really WAS a day that both Vision and Hawkeye were not in residence. 

Romanoff was with them. Pshaw, no security then. 

She left the wide box in the center of Rogers’ dining room table. Planted a couple quick bugs while she was there, took a few photos for James, then exited the same way she came in. Minus several bugs along the way. 

~ ~ ~ ~

It was late that night when Steve finally got back into his quarters. Wanda was nearby, it made her feel safe. But he still liked having his own space. Although he did keep a spare room ready. Just in case. Some day. Maybe. 

The moment the light came on, he stopped, staring at the box on the table. It was wrapped in birthday paper, although today was only July 2nd. “Bu-- James? Are you here?” 

No one answered. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, swallowed down the bitter disappointment, then pushed forward. 

There were ribbons on the box. The paper was Avengers themed, and it made him smile. He took his time unwrapping it, groaning softly when he opened it up. Several small bags of ingredients, along with a hand printed recipe that looked simple enough for even him to follow. A single bar of Hershey’s Chocolate. Tears burned at his eyes as he moved the ingredients to the side to reveal a new sketchbook in a quality he usually refused to buy for himself. He put it to the side, then laughed as he picked up a lumpy knitted hat, pulling it on immediately, tugging it down over his ears. Beneath that was a photo album. Nothing else in the box beneath it. 

He took the sketch book and the photo album to the couch before his knees gave way. He opened the album first to find a card in the front. It had a picture of two hands holding on, with no pre-printed saying. But the inside was covered in the neat handwriting he remembered so well.

> I’m sorry I’m not there for your birthday. You deserve one of ma’s cakes. I’m sorry too, that you have to make it on your own. And also, please forgive the delivery system. Private things should stay private. 
> 
> I read that Peggy is still alive. I hope you go to visit. Tell her I say hello, and that she doesn’t have to worry about you anymore. That’s what we did, you know. Took turns worrying about you. I’m guessing you already told her a lot, but go ahead and tell her everything you haven’t. 
> 
> The photo album, it’s got a lot of stuff I had to print off the internet. But it’s all things I remember. Things I remember WHY it’s important I remember. I hope they give you good memories too. 
> 
> Once you’re done with that, look in the sketchbook. I took the liberty of filling in the first page for you. 
> 
> Wear the damn hat. If anyone asks, tell them it’s a family thing.  
>  ~James 

Steve skipped the album and went straight for the sketchbook. James’ skill with drawing wasn’t as elegant as his handwriting, but it was clear to Steve exactly who had drawn these little things. He’d seen that hand a million times as a kid, filling in the empty borders of his sketch book when he wasn’t looking.

This page had tiny cats everywhere, even paw prints. A few orange hairs stuck to spots that had obviously been wet at times. He recognized his own face, the one he still expected to see in the mirror every day, thin jaw and nose, hair perked up over his eyes. There were several studies of that face, from all angles. One from after, dirt smudges recreated on his cheek, army helmet swinging to the side. One he assumed was James, long shaggy hair and glowering brows. A string of three girls walked across the bottom of the page, hand in hand like ducks. A cat winding through the legs of the shortest one. He turned the page over, but it was blank beyond that.

Steve left the sketchbook open before picking up the photo album, taking his time leafing through the mere dozen pages. He knew instantly which photos James had meant, that had come from the internet. 

The last few pages were just James, obviously taken by someone else when he wasn’t paying attention. Several of them made his heart flip over in his chest, the lost yet introspective look on his face. There were several with the cat, either following him around, riding on his shoulder, or curled up on his chest or stomach. 

The last photo though, he was going to take out and frame. James was somewhere neither of them had ever been, as far as Steve knew. At the helm of a sail boat, wind flicking his hair back, eyes shaded from the sun, and smiling. A big smile, laughing into the wind. Free.

Steve curled up with the book against his chest, sniffling a little. He reached up to rub at the hat on his head, tugging it down over his ears, making sure the little blue-tooth thing was in place.

When his phone rang fifteen minutes later, he merely answered with, “You asshole.” 

“Well I would have sent a cake, but it was hard enough getting what we did in there, so... You’re on your own, pal.” James voice was light, with what Steve thought was relief.

“Thank you, you know. I love it.” His nose burned again and he blinked away more tears.

“You’re welcome. I still got another what, seventy something birthdays to make up for?” 

“Me too, you know.” Steve smiled, shifting a bit in his chair. 

“Well, actually, you do know that neither of us were awake for most of those. Maybe we’re on the hook for five or six instead.” 

Steve sniffled a little, not even bothering to hide it. “I can work with that.” 

“Happy Birthday, Stevie.” 

“Thank you, James. Now, don’t hang up. You’re gonna talk me through making this cake. How do you even know if I’ve got eggs or not?” 

Laughter from the other end. “Steve, if you don’t have eggs, milk, and butter, than someone else in that place should.” 

It took him two tries, and a lot of laughter, but he did end up with a cake that finally tasted right to him. That tasted like home. 

He hid it, so that he didn’t have to share. Although Natasha gave him some very pointed looks.

Several days after his birthday, he went to DC. And he took the photo album with him. Peggy deserved to see them as well.


End file.
